


when you move (i move)

by Ejunkiet



Series: love like ghosts (kastle collection) [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 22:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15716613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: “Christ, Karen.” He runs his fingers through his hair, the long strands dishevelled, his eyes dark and wild. “Figured you had a death wish, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”





	when you move (i move)

**Author's Note:**

> Long awaited prompt fill for Light of Page on tumblr! Based on the dialog "you're hurting me" as, ouch.

The first time Karen Page takes an undercover job, it’s at a rundown biker joint on the east side of the river. It’s a poor excuse for a bar, the air thick with smoke and the stink of stale beer, and all the patrons look as if they’ve seen the inside of bars more than a few times – but it’s relatively quiet for an establishment like this, and she doesn’t plan on staying here long.  
  
She has a few drinks, dishes out a couple ‘sirs’ and enjoys the compliments she receives, settling comfortably into the role of a ‘southern floozy’, until of course, the whole thing comes tumbling down around her ears.  
  
“What the hell are you doing here?”  
  
“Frank?”  
  
She could say the same to him. Frank Castle, in the flesh. She almost doesn’t recognise him; he’s dropped his strict adherence to military protocol and his hair is longer, curling around his ears. He looks – older, as if the few months that have passed since she last saw him had aged him beyond his years, and she’s surprised to see stripes of grey tangled into his beard. It’s a stark reminder that Frank was just a man; that he lived and breathed and bled just like the rest of us.  
  
Frank doesn’t wait for a response, reaching forward to grasp her wrist; his grip is like a vice as he tugs her behind him and makes his way through the crowd. He shoulders his way through the room, navigating a path through a combination of brute force and intimidation until she’s hit by a blast of cold air, a harsh contrast to the heady heat within the bar, and she realises they’ve reached the alley outside.    
  
He doesn’t stop until they’ve reached the next block and then some, turning into a side alley and pulling her through a door with a busted lock into a wide empty warehouse.    
  
She reaches out to him once they’re inside, forcing him to a stop.  “For fucks sake, Frank, you’re hurting me - _let go_.”  
  
He does, his hands flying away from her arm as if he’s just been burned.  
  
“Christ, Karen.” He runs his fingers through his hair, the long strands dishevelled, his eyes dark and wild. “Figured you had a death wish, but I didn’t think you were stupid.”  
  
Her hands clench into fists as she resists the urge to lash out – a slap, a punch, something. She takes a long, steadying breath, getting herself under control, if only just.  
  
“It maybe wasn’t the smartest play, Frank, but it was the only one I had, so I thought-”  
  
He interrupts with a short laugh, “You mean actual thought went into this?”  
  
“Will you just shut up and listen to me, Frank-”  
  
He stops moving and turns to face her, and his expression is calm, at odds with the tension she can see twitching along his frame. “With all due respect ma’am, no, I won’t.”  
  
She tries anyway. “There’s a story-”  
  
Frank lets out a short, harsh laugh, glancing to the side as he scrubs at his face with one hand. “There’s always a story, ma’am. Doesn’t change the fact that you had no business being there.”  
  
Karen bristles at that, opening her mouth to make a retort, but he continues before she can get the words out.  
  
“The men in there – they were eyeing you like a piece of meat. You shouldn’t even have made it past the door. Not in that sort of place. That’s the sort of place people go missing. Women, in particular.”  
  
“How about you tell me something I don’t know?”  
  
“I killed five men on my way in.” Her heart shudders in her chest, and she turns her head to face him so fast she she’ll likely get whiplash. “I was planning on finishing the job, but-”  
  
Then I saw you. It’s implied; he doesn’t have to say it.  
  
She looks away, focusing for the first time on the boxes that litter the room, thick black cases with heavy padding, and she gets it. He’d been planning a strike, had picked the same night as she had – she’d probably been seconds away from a massacre, and her heart rate kicks up a notch, her breath coming just that bit faster.  
  
“People saw me leave with you,” he continues, his tone calmer, more matter of fact. “You’re going to need to lay low for a while. We need to go.”  
  
The gravity of the situation settles over her then, her fingers clenching tighter in her grip as Frank glances away, breaking eye contact. After a moment, he resumes pacing the room, and she takes a moment to catch her breath and gather her thoughts, as – shit. She hadn’t prepared for this. There was no delicate way to put it: she hadn’t prepared for this, but she should have.  
  
She needs to contact Foggy, Ellison – hell, maybe even Matt.  
  
But then something about the way Frank had phrased it catches her attention, and she turns to watch him as he moves navigates a path through the room, taking in the twitch in his fingers, the way his eyes scan the supplies. They don’t have much time, but she needs to ask this, needs to be sure of what he’s suggesting-  
  
“We?”  
  
He stops, levels her with a long look. “You got a better idea?”  
  
No. She doesn’t. That knowledge should terrify her, and to an extent it does, but she doesn’t have the luxury of indulging in it. Not when they’re running out of time.  “Where?”  
  
“I have a place.”  
  
She’s not surprised. He holds her gaze for another long moment before jerking his head towards the door. “We should go.”  
  
“What about the-” she can’t get the words out, but he gets her meaning, cutting a glance to the assorted weaponry around them.  
  
“Doesn’t matter.” At her frown, he points to a collection of boxes near her. “See those locks? I’ve got a friend; he’s coded them to my fingerprint. Anyone tries to open them with force – boom.”  
  
She doesn’t ask any more questions after that – doesn’t need to. If Micro is involved, then she could at least feel confident that they have the situation in hand.  
  
“Alright.” She gestures to the door, her voice brittle and sharp, “lead the way.”  
  
It’s even colder than before when they get outside, and she’s made painfully aware of how woefully underdressed she is for the weather. The short skirt and fishnet combo had served its purpose in the bar, but now she’s left feeling bare, exposed like a nerve as Frank’s gaze rakes over her, taking her in.  
  
He shrugs out of his jacket in one smooth movement, holding it out to her without a word, and she considers ignoring the gesture, before discarding the idea. She’s above idle pettiness; it’s too damn cold for it, and she isn’t above accepting help when she needs it.  
  
She takes the jacket and he lets her take the lead as she walks them back to her car. He holds a hand out for her keys and she tosses them over, her shoulders tight as she clambers into the passenger seat and cranks up the heat.  
  
Neither of them speak as they pull out of the dusty car lot, engine gunning as they hit tarmac and screech away into the night.  
  
–  
  
She feels herself relax when they hit the highway, the tension dropping from her shoulders the further they get away from the city. Tonight had been a – mistake. There was no ignoring that fact now.  
  
She glances back to Frank just in time to catch his eyes on her before he looks back to the road, and she takes a mental stock of the situation. She’s wrapped in little more than his jacket, and in any other situation, with anyone else, she’d be more self-conscious about that fact.  
  
But this was Frank, and his tone is wry when he says, “that’s quite the get-up, ma’am.”  
  
She wishes they could have swung by her apartment so she could pick up a change of clothes, but she knows without asking that it would be a bad idea – if they knew who she was, they knew where she lived. “Couldn’t get their attention otherwise.”  
  
His jaw tightens and he glances away again, smoothing a hand across his mouth, scratching across the bristle on his jaw. “Well, you got their attention alright.”


End file.
